


A Lover and A Fighter

by Wordplaysam



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-03 18:07:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14001666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordplaysam/pseuds/Wordplaysam
Summary: Kara visits Sam on New Caprica, and she’s full of surprises.





	A Lover and A Fighter

“Hey, hot stuff,” Kara said as she hopped down off the Raptor. “Hanging out by the docks, hoping some sailor on shore leave is going to pick you up?” she teased, wrapping her arms around his neck. He rested his hands on her waist. The New Caprica air didn’t feel as cold when she was in his arms, and he beamed down at her.

“Something like that,” Sam replied, and she cut him off with a kiss. But they were interrupted by Kara’s duffel being tossed out of the Raptor, and Kara shouldered it, shooting a wave back to Helo as he closed the hatch. Sam would have carried her bag for her, but he’d learned his lesson about that on her first leave. “How long do you have?” he asked.

“Twenty-four hours,” she replied, “so let’s make this count.”

There were more direct routes between the landing pad and Sam’s tent, but he was proud of the progress they’d been making so he took the long route. New Caprica City was a shithole, but it was _his_ shithole.

“—the food dispensary tent,” he said, pointing with his free hand as they passed it, his other hand occupied by hers. “Supposedly it’s first on Baltar’s list to make permanent after the groundbreaking ceremony next month, but Hillard saw a memo about government buildings, so who knows.”

“There’s a lot more here than last time,” she said, sounding impressed, and he soaked it in. He missed being cheered on by a stadium of thousands, but he couldn’t help but feel thrilled by the knowedge that so much of this city was here because he had built it, with his own hands. “And that one?”

He cast a glance across the road to a tent where women were unloading a box of candles and linen. “That’s our temple,” he said.

***

The next morning, he woke just before the sunrise, as he usually did. And like usual, he was the only one in his pallet—which barely registered as strange at first until he realized the space beside him was still warm, and that he had not gone to sleep alone. Waking up with Kara in his arms was one of the perks of her shore leaves, the early morning sun hitting her blonde hair where it draped across his chest one of his favorite sights.

But there was no telling where she had gone to. So he tugged on his shoes and a shirt, and had just finished stretching when Jean rounded the corner, her hair bouncing in its ponytail as she jogged.

“Morning,” she said, Sam falling into stride beside her. “You sure ran your girlfriend off fast this morning. Saw her slipping into the temple on my way over.”

“The temple?” Sam asked, but they had cleared the outskirts of the tent city, and her only response was to speed up as they raced through the fields beyond, too fast for talking.

But not too fast for thoughts, as Sam reflected that he hadn’t even known Kara was religious, let alone devout enough to get up early for a sunrise service. But then again, there were so many things about her that he didn’t know, so many details their hurried courtship hadn’t given him time to learn, things a post-apocalyptic lifestyle could leave forgotten. He half-pondered a list of things as he ran: what her parents had done for a living. If she had any siblings. Her favorite color, her favorite band, the name of her first pet. Which gods she had woken up to pray to.

He and Jean had a long-standing tradition of meeting the other C-Bucs for breakfast before splitting off into their work crews, but as they finished their loop and broke their sprint, he waved her off. “Catch you later?” he asked.

“Sure, Romeo,” she replied with a wink, and he split off for the temple.

He was sweaty and slightly winded as he lifted the flap to the tent, but that was not a state his goddess minded. The inside of the temple was dim, lit mostly by candles, but he could still make out Kara, kneeling near the altar. He knelt beside her, bowing his head. No longer a pyramid player, or even a resistance fighter, there was less to pray for these days. He'd become a simple man with a simple life, and it had been weeks since he last approached the gods like this, but the prayer came to his lips, familiar and comforting as always as he mouthed the words:

_Come, mighty Goddess, and thy supplicant bless with sparking eye, elated with success. May deeds illustrious thy protection claim and find, led on by thee immortal Fame._

Kara broke the silence first. “You keep the gods?” Kara asked. There was just as much about him that she didn’t know. That his favorite color was red, that his dad had been a physics teacher and his mom a florist before they both died in a car accident his first semester in college, that his childhood pet had been a cat named Otis.

“I do,” Sam replied. “Nike and Poseidon.” She snorted, and when he looked over, she was stifling a smile. “What?” he asked.

“The professional athlete from Picon? I’m _shocked_.”

“Hey, don’t break what isn’t broken. Nike’s been a very generous patron to me,” he said. “You?”

“Aphrodite and Artemis,” she replied.

“Ooh, a lover _and_ a fighter,” he said. “I like it.” Laughing, she shoved him, then kissed him. “Only proves my point,” he murmured against her lips.

She pulled away, but she grabbed his hand and tugged him with her out of the temple. They squinted in the sunlight, and he slung an arm over her shoulders for the walk back to his tent.

There were so many things about his girlfriend he didn’t know, but it was all just the details, the trimmings. He knew the important things: that she fit just right under his arm. That she was the most courageous woman he’d ever met, loyal enough to cross the galaxy for him on a promise, with so much strength to spare that even her dogtag had saved his life. That her visits brought brightness to his grey New Caprica days. 

The details would come. For now, he had all that he needed.

**Author's Note:**

> Sam’s prayer comes from a set of poems traditionally attributed to Orpheus (Hymn 32, “To Victory”), English translation by Thomas Taylor.


End file.
